stories out of songs
by thefantasydreamer
Summary: Sherlock stories based on the songs you send me. open for requests. (multiple pairings).


**Stories out of songs**

**A/N: Hello my dear readers! This one here is a series of oneshots (All Sherlock with different pairings) based on songs. I read it somewhere on here a writer wrote something like this like back in 2012 and I was like why not do it again?**

**So feel free to PM me or review your favorite song so I could turn it into a story. I write the first one or two based on my favorite playlist. Here you go the first one.**

**Summary: Mary is dead and Sherlock feels guilty. **

**WARNING: Act of suicide.**

**Chapter one: What about angels? By Birdy**

221B was dragged into a complete silence. There was no one there. Neither the line of confused client coming to him to solve their mysterious cases nor Mrs. Hudson grumbling about how messed up the flat was. Doors and windows were locked, curtains drawn, his violin and music sheets spread all around the floor, and he was sitting on the floor among the mess.

It was strange for Sherlock Holmes to sit somewhere without complaining about how bored he was. He was bored but not because there was no case to solve but he was bored of himself.

_'Mary is gone,'_

Those words have been echoing in his mind over and over. His brain had muffed the sound of the outside world and kept screaming those words at him. Mary Watson, the petit woman with a lovely smile was gone. Mary was gone forever. One of his good friends was gone.

_'Mary's gone, Sherlock. Mary's gone and it's all your fault'_

He still remembered when John threw at him those words. Rubbed the guilt in his face. His face red from anger and his eyes raining tears of sorrow.

_'It's all your fault,'_

Those echoed the most, hurting his heart; the organ he wasn't supposed to have according to John. He was too selfish to drag his friends in danger, after all.

He looked at the gun in his hand. Normally when he was bored he would take it out on the yellow smiley face on the wall. But this time he wanted to take it out on himself.

_We know full well there's just time_

_So is it wrong to dance this line?_

That was it. It was the end. The end for Sherlock Holmes; the one and only consulting detective. Just one bullet and everything would go black. Everyone would breathe in relief. Everyone would be at ease.

There would be no more mess for Mrs. Hudson to clean. There would be no one to hurt molly anymore. There would be no one for Mycroft to look after. There would be no freak at the crime scene to show off. Wouldn't that be better for everyone? A heartless ignorant would be wiped of the surface of the earth.

Sherlock traced his fingers along the gun. Its metal surface was hard and cool under his fingers. His body would be as stiff and cold as this gun when Mrs. Hudson come from Mary's funeral. His mind and mouth would be shut off forever.

Would she cry? Would she hold his head in her lap while crying over the phone, telling John to hurry and come here?

Would he smile? His wife's murderer would be lying on the ground. The one who put his life in danger so many times.

Would Molly, Lestrade, and Sally laugh in his funeral? Would there even be a funeral?

He rose the gun and aimed it at his head. Just one bullet, Sherlock. One bullet and it all we'll be over. No pain, no tears, nothing.

He sigh and closed his eyes. He was ready to pull the trigger but then suddenly, he was in his mind palace. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, John, Mycroft and even Lestrade were standing there, smiling at him.

If he wasn't there who would rent this clutter flat? Who would be there to drag John out of his ordinary life? Who would be there to save London from the most wild and dangerous criminals?

Sherlock wasn't heartless he cared for these people. There was always a reason for him to be there for them and for them to be there for him. They were what made him to stay focused and on the angel's side.

Sherlock got up and shove the gun into his desk drawer. Pulled the curtains aside and unlocked his doors. Grabbed the CD Mary send to him and played it on his laptop.

He shouldn't give up. He should stay strong for him and for them. They were what made him special. They were his angels, after all.

_'cause what about, what about angels?_

_They will come, they will go and make us special_

_Don't give me up_

_Don't give me up…_

_**A/N: There. Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Waiting for your PMs/reviews.**_

_**xoxoxo**_


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